


Excursions in Exclusivity

by orphan_account



Category: The Carrie Diaries
Genre: First Time, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Period-Typical Homophobia, W H Y, these losers are so cute im dead, why no fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2018-01-03 04:43:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1065907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Walt and Bennet are exclusive. Fucking finally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Excursions in Exclusivity

Blake was cute. Really cute, with tanned skin and deep eyes and a bright smile. To be honest, he was dreamy. Secure job, amazing personality, and a _killer_ sense of style. Perfect.

But twenty minutes into their downtown walk Walt finds himself thinking of Bennet, of his (stupid) eyes and (ridiculous) smile and (irritating, completely irritating) nose that curved up and just begged to be kissed or bopped or _something_.

“-and then Larissa freaks out and spills her _entire_ decaf on me, and I had a goddamn meeting in five minutes, so I walked in with a coffee stain the size of Africa and still managed to snag the contract with Burberry. Talk about _exhausting_ ,”

Walt realizes too late that he hasn’t responded. Blake looks at him, handsome with Manhattan’s lights glowing around his head, and Walt feels like he should blush or swoon but he doesn’t, he just blinks awkwardly until Blake clears his throat and steps closer.

 _Is he expecting a kiss_? It wouldn’t be that bad, except Blake’s lips swell in the wrong places and his suit is too stiff with starch to be grabbed from the lapels and his lashes aren’t the specific shade of translucent brown Walt wishes they were.

“You’re thinking about Bennet, right?”

“What?” What? He was not.

Blake sighs. Walt hates the sound, immediately. (It’s the sound of disappointment, the same one he heard on his 18th birthday, the same one when he tries to push for more and ends up with less.)

“Look, Walt. I get it, alright. I mean, Bennet and I go way back. I know he likes you more than he lets on,”

Walt opens his mouth to protest, but Blake dramatically hushes him with a finger to the lips.

“Anyway, about ninety percent of the reason I asked you out in the first place was to make him squirm. Bennet was the calm and collected one when we were kids, and it’s pretty hilarious seeing him get flustered over a sixteen year old,”

“I’m eighteen,”

“Sure,” Blake chuckles, and Walt kind of wants to chuck the driver’s license tucked in his back pocket at the guy’s head.

Suddenly, Blake grabs his hand, eyes widening. “It’s Bennet,” he whispers furiously. “Act like you like me,”

“I _do_ like you,” Walt insists, but then his chest squeezes stupidly when he catches Bennet looking up from his ‘inconspicuous’ perch behind an oak tree. His point is probably moot, by now.

Blake drags them closer, his hands rough and calloused from (holding pens? shaking hands?) work.

“Bennet!” Blake exclaims, bright and fake. “I didn’t see you there,”

“Y-yeah, me neither,” Oh gosh, Bennet _is_ flustered. Over Walt. Bennet glances at him once, eyes dark in the night time glow. “How’s the date going?”

“Great,” Walt shrugs, tries looking at anyone but Bennet. Blake’s phone rings, and after a few curses he looks more relieved than upset.

“Actually,” Blake says, grinning smugly. “I just got a call from Larissa, and I need to go. Sorry for leaving you, Walt, but I assume Bennet will be adequate company?”

“I will,” Bennet smiles, stretching his lips too far, and waves Blake good bye.

Walt is still trying to not look at Bennet, but it’s hard. Bennet is so close, Walt can hear him breathing, slightly irregularly.

“Were you spying on us?”

“What? No!” Bennet shakes his head vigorously. “I was just, well, looking out for you. Older guys in New York aren’t exactly _innocent_ ,”

“And _you_ are?” Walt doesn’t try to squash his irritation. Being treated like a kid is the most annoying thing ever since he became an adult.

“No,” Bennet frowns. “I’m not. But seeing you with Blake, it drove me _crazy_. I sort of had an epiphany while watching you guys,”

“And what epiphany is this exactly?”

Bennet sucks in a breath and steps closer. This time, it isn’t awkward or hesitant, it has purpose. Bennet looks into his eyes (really _looks_ , swoon worthy looking going on right now) and clears his throat.

 “I want us to be exclusive,”

And then Bennet kisses him, on another New York street at night, and this time Walt pushes instead of pulls, forwards into Bennet.

.

Two weeks into exclusivity and Walt doesn’t have a clue. They still kiss and all that, but mainly they talk. Walt calls Bennet at night, when his parents have stomped off to bed and his homework is finished.

“Bennet,” he gasps, and he doesn’t want to cry, not really. “My Dad,”

It was so stupid, really. Walt was watching college football with his Dad and one of the players was injured, clocked in by a two hundred pound Virginia Cavaliers linebacker. A rib cracked, and instead of brushing it off and grunting, the guy passed out on the stretcher.

“Faggot,” Dad had muttered, and Walt felt his heart drop straight past his stomach.

Walt curls himself on the bed, clutching the pillow with one hand as he dials Bennet with the other.

“Walt, I need you to breathe, alright? Your Dad said that because he doesn’t know any better, okay. He won’t find out unless you want him too,”

Walt draws in a shaky breath, feeling his chest constrict with fear. Bennet is silent on the other line.

“Do you want him to, Walt? Do you want your Dad to know?” It’s innocent, and Bennet’s voice is gentle.

But panic grabs him, and Walt nearly screams _no_ before he realises it’s three in the morning.

“No,” he whispers. “I can’t, not yet,”

“Shh,” Bennet calms him down. “That’s alright. No one’s pushing,”

“Okay,”

“Okay. You want me to stay on the line until you fall asleep?”

Walt does want that, but it sounds so stupid said aloud, so he refuses.

“No, it’s fine. Good night, Bennet,”

“Night, Walt,” Bennet yawns, adorable and too far away. “Love you,”

He hangs up, and Walt thinks _I love you back_ before falling asleep that way, phone clutched in his hand and smile pulling at his face.

.

Christmas break rolls around much sooner than expected, and Walt finds himself friendless when Maggie and Donna both leave for the holidays. Mouse is nice to him, but West is her boyfriend first, and they both apologetically leave to do boyfriend-girlfriend things.

Walt thinks of Bennet, thinks about him for an embarrassingly long amount of time until his Dad is basically screaming his name.

“Jesus, Walt. Have you gone deaf or something?”

“N-no, Dad, sorry,”

His Dad _harrumphs_ and pulls on the cord of the phone. “Some guy called Bennet wants to talk to you. Says he’s a friend,”

Bennet called. _Bennet_ called, Walt is going to be very careful in front of his Dad. He grabs the phone and presses it to his ear.

“Hey Walt,”

“Hey, Bennet,” Walt’s Dad is _right there_ , not even bothering to hide the fact that he’s listening in on them.

“Look, there’s this party at Larissa’s house, and she invited me. Normally I wouldn’t want to interrupt your family time, but Larissa insisted I bring a date. So I thought of you, naturally. Do you want to come?”

“A party?” Walt turns to his father. His Dad furrows his brow, then gestures to fluffy blonde hair and short skirts with ridiculous movements. _Will Carrie be there?_

“Will Carrie be there?”

“Oh yeah,” Bennet chuckles, and Walt tries hard not to smile. “The whole gang. Tell your Dad it’s safe, and I’m here if he needs to know anything else,”

Walt presses a hand to the receiver. “Carrie’s going to be there, and Bennet is here if you need any more information,”

“How old is this kid?”

“Um,” Walt racks his brain. Obviously Bennet was over eighteen, and in his second year of college, so he must be in his twenties. “Twenty two,” he says.

It’s an adequate guess.

His Dad sniffs, thinking it over, and pats Walt on the shoulder. “Have fun, kid. You deserve it,”

Walt smiles, and hugs his Dad before thinking twice.

“Thanks, Dad. I really, uh, appreciate it,”

Walt is out the door before his Dad can say _you’re welcome._

.

The party is loud and raucous and manages to cram at least fifty people in each room. Walt sticks close to Bennet, more than happy to see him after the long train ride from Connecticut.

“I missed you,” Bennet has to yell in his ear, pulling Walt closer with a hand on his waist.

There are at least fifty people in the room, but every single one of them looks absorbed in the music, swaying their bodies and laughing. Walt moves in closer, kisses Bennet open mouthed and dirty, swipes his tongue along the seam of his lips.

“I missed you too,” he whispers back, nipping Bennet’s jaw. Walt relishes the feeling of Bennet’s arms tightening around him. But he feels Bennet pulling away when he bites too hard. It stings, the mini rejection, but Walt has spent four months aching for Bennet’s company, and he isn’t going to give it up now.

 “I’m not drunk or anything,” Walt yells. “I know what I’m doing,”

However, something past Walt’s shoulder has Bennet’s attention, and when he looks back, Bennet has a furrowed brow.  Shaking it off, Bennet looks back at Walt. He bites his lip, which is unfair, then looks up through his wonderfully translucent eyelashes.

“Do you want to head back to my place?” he asks, and Walt nods so hard he fears whiplash. Bennet takes his hand and leads Walt out of Larissa’s apartment.

“I live close by, just two floors up. Kind of awkward, sometimes, living near your boss,”

Walt smiles and nods and feigns nonchalance. Bennet’s grip on his hand is tight, but the brisk pace he sets sends out an indication that Bennet is as worked up as Walt is.

They round 26B and Walt finds himself pressed against the door. Bennet’s body is warm and solid over him, and his eyes are blackened with a larger pupil.

“That little stunt you pulled at the party,” Bennet growls (actually growls, voice rough and deep.) “What was that?”

“Did you not like it?”

“Did I not-” Bennet wipes a hand over his eyes. “Jesus, Walt. I liked it _very_ much, alright. But I’m not the sort of guy to get handsy with an eighteen year old at a _party_ ,”

“And why not?” God, this evening was going so well. Now he’s affronted by the fact his age is stopping Bennet from going all out.

Bennet takes his hands, a placating look in his eyes. “Walt, I just don’t feel comfortable in such a huge crowd. I mean, it’s still 1984. There were a few people sending us strange looks,”

“I’m not afraid of them,” Walt is defiant, which means he is very much afraid.

“I know,” Bennet is smiling. “I just want you to be safe,”

Walt releases a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. “I want you to be safe, too,” Bennet pulls him impossibly closer. “You’re here for me, Bennet, but I’m here for you too,”

 Bennet doesn’t say anything, just presses him further into the door and kisses him. Walt feels him trembling, so he twines their fingers together and tries not to drown in the sweetness of the touch.

But then Bennet tilts his head back, and Walt sort of goes for it, licks a stripe up his neck and brushes his nose behind Bennet’s ear. A strangled gasp works its way out of Bennet’s throat, low and garbled in his ear.

“Inside,” Bennet gasps, hands shaking as he looks for the key. “Come inside,”

Three tries and they’re in, hands fumbling for the lights. Walt’s been here, before, but it was with Larissa and Carrie and they basically kept Walt and Bennet as far apart as possible.

Bennet’s room (Walt sees the phone hanging on the wall and the framed picture of him and Bennet on the bedside table and tries not to squeal with happiness) is spacious, but expected of a college student with a _paid_ internship.

Considering the growing _problem_ in his pants, Walt inadvertently feels pleasure in the rough scratch of denim against Bennet’s hip. It’s a little embarrassing, getting this hard over a few kisses, but Walt feels a similar press against his leg. His eyes widen, because wow, Bennet has a very nice, very _hard_ dick on Walt’s thigh.

Stammering, Bennet pulls away, lips red and slick with spit. Walt tracks his face, watches his lashes dip lower and the flush spread up from his neck to his cheeks.

“Sorry, I-” And his voice is rough and cracking and that’s the last straw, Walt pins his shoulder and kisses the hard bone he finds.

“I’ll take care of you,” he mutters, fumbling with the buttons. “Let me just...,”

Bennet swats his hands away, undoing his fly with the grace of a ballerina, and suddenly it’s one less layer between Walt and Bennet’s dick. Walt pulls off his own underwear, and there’s a split second of hesitation where he stares at the bulge of grey cotton, then he pulls out his own dick and Bennet’s and jerks them both off.

Finesse is not a quality he possesses, off tempo and irregular strokes, but it’s working because soon Bennet is thrusting blindly into his hands and panting nonsense in his mouth.

“Walt, Jesus Christ, _Walt_ ,” Bennet’s hair is flopping on his forehead and into his eyes, and there’s a few broken buttons on his shirt.

“Yeah?” It’s not really a question, but Walt grins, liking the fact Bennet can’t even finish his sentence.

“Is this _okay_ , Bennet? Do you like it?” Where the hell did _that_ come from?, Walt doesn’t even know, but Bennet just moans out more nonsense and Walt swipes his thumb over the slit and feels the hot spill as Bennet comes on his hand.

Walt comes after, biting down _hard_ on Bennet’s shoulder and making a general mess of himself. They don’t move apart for a while, panting, Walt leaning against Bennet’s shoulder.

“Shit,” says Bennet, and Walt has never heard him swear before, so he looks up and cracks up when Bennet exhales loudly.

“You look exhausted, old man,” Bennet punches him half-heartedly.

“Don’t tease me,” he groans, and leans down for a kiss. Walt leans up (he’ll never admit how much he likes the fact that Bennet is taller than him) and winces when he feels a cooling wet spot on his pants.

“Need a shower,” he mutters, and Bennet just kisses him again.

.

Walt cracks an affronted eye open at the sunlight streaming into the room. The bed he is currently tucked into has soft blue covers, so Walt snuggles in and reaches out to wrap an arm around his very handsome pillow partner.

Who is not there.

Walt blinks, turning to see the empty spot in the bed. Groaning, he pushes himself off the bed and pads into the kitchen. There he finds Bennet, fully dressed, flipping pancakes and humming.

A swell of affection (who’s he kidding, it’s love, Walt is so in love he might as well have it written in permanent marker on his forehead) fills his chest.

“Morning, sleepy,” Bennet greets him without looking. “How did we sleep last night?”

“Pretty well, actually,” Walt can’t stop grinning. “I had a very nice partner,”

“Oh?” Bennet is cute when he’s acting. “Who might that be?”

“I don’t know,” Walt shrugs. “Some guy called Bennet,”

Bennet laughs, placing a glass of orange juice near his arm, on the Formica table. The sunlight makes the juice sparkle, which is weird, but also makes Bennet’s eyes look impossibly blue, like postcard oceans or something.

They eat for a while, Bennet reads the paper for a grand total of three minutes until Larissa calls him up and demands his presence. Walt swallows the last piece of his pancake, and brushes off Bennet’s apologies.

“I have to go anyways,” he says. “My Dad will be waiting,”

“Alright,” Bennet is smiling, tugging on the buttoned coat with the lapels (the same one he wore when he first kissed Walt, it’s the same one he wears whenever the air turns sharp and paints red streaks across his nose and cheek).

Walt gathers his clothes, stuffing them in a bag Bennet offers to him, and stops Bennet with a hand on his arm.

“Have a nice day at work,” he whispers, like they’re married or something (isn’t that a nice thought) and kisses Bennet’s surprised lips before shutting the door behind them.

It’s only on the train Walt realizes he’s still wearing Bennet’s shirt.

 _Well_ , Walt thinks, _I’ll have to give it back to him next time I’m in New York._

Walt buttons his jacket over Bennet’s shirt, tries not to grin too obviously when Dad asks him about the party, and proceeds to sleep the next few days with the shirt under his pillow.

“You look happy, Walt. Happier than I’ve seen in a long time. I take it the trip was good for you?”

“The best, Dad”

That’s one truth he won’t hide.

. 

**Author's Note:**

> What am I doing writing for a ship that doesn't even have a fandom? (Answer: it’s rhetorical, and I’m sad bc this cute little show needs some love.)
> 
> Yes, the acting is kinda cheesy, but certain little quirks like Bennet's "is this okay?" line and Walt not being ready to come out sort of possessed my brain and the result is this fic. 
> 
> Plus the show is realistic and honest with itself, which I am a big sucker for. Realism, that really gets me going. 
> 
> Jesus, I'm lame.


End file.
